


Smoke and Blood

by WildddThinggg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Darkish Harry, Happy Ending, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry finds Tom, Harry is too young for this, Harry won’t let him, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Run Away, So Tom will give him one, The Dursley’s deserve to die, Tom is there for him when no one else is, Tom wants to help with that, a little dark, maybe a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildddThinggg/pseuds/WildddThinggg
Summary: Harry runs away from the Dursley’s and meets a kind stranger who gives him hope. Tom Riddle is Harry’s first friend. And Tom is going to make sure he protects what is his.“The things you can do are not strange, they are spectacular,” Harry figured that was a good thing and his chest warmed in an unfamiliar way, he offered the man a hesitant smile. No one had ever told Harry he was anything other than a no-good freak, that he was worth something.“What’s your name, sir?” The man smirked at his simple display of manners.“Tom Riddle,”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 44
Kudos: 350





	1. An encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I’ve been working on for a while and I’m excited to start sharing it. It will get dark so be warned.

Harry was six when he ran away for the first time.

He’d been cleaning the dinner table and he could hear Dudley in the living room throwing his daily tantrum.

“I wanted a blue toy! A blue one! Not a red one!” He’d been screaming for what felt like hours and Harry’s head was pounding in annoyance.

Harry could just make out the ugly red of Dudley’s face from where he was collecting plates.

Harry was exhausted already and the ache in his head only grew worse as his aunt and uncle tried to calm their son to no avail.

He wished that Dudley would just  stop.  If only he’d gotten the right stupid toy.

Then, as if by magic, the noise did stop.

Dudley’s crying ceased and there was a sudden stillness to the house as Harry looked up to see what had happened.

The toy was still tightly clutched in Dudley’s meaty fist where he’d been waving it around, except now it was an electric blue.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise before glancing towards his relatives in fear. He’d done this hadn’t he? There was no other explanation.

Uncle Vernon was already glaring at him, face darkening to a frightening purple.

Harry stepped back, shrinking in on himself as his uncles thunderous footsteps grew closer.

“ _Freak_!  How dare you use such filthy tricks around my son! Are you trying to corrupt him, is that it? After we give you food and a roof over your head?” Vernon’s voice reverberated through the room and Harry flinched away from the noise.

His uncles face had darkened alarmingly; Harry had never seen him so angry and it seemed his fury shook the entire house.

“We don’t need you spreading your freakishness to our boy!”

Harry hadn’t seen the hit coming, a backhand sending him to the floor and leaving him trembling. The pain came gradually as the reality of his situation sunk in like a forming bruise.

When Uncle Vernon took another step forwards Harry’s instincts acted for him, swaying precariously on his feet for a moment before he took off out the front door.

“Get back here, boy!”

Harry stumbled at the thunderous voice but kept running all the same. Onto the damp grass, then the unforgiving asphalt of the road. He gasped in air as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him away, away from the danger.

There was an uncomfortable prickling behind his eyes and his throat and lungs burned when he finally slowed down.

He hadn’t been paying attention to his direction and had wound up in an unfamiliar London street. Buildings cast ominous shadows over the road, streetlights doing little to fight the dark.

The hairs on Harry’s neck and arms rose in alarm as he peered around. His stomach twisted in unease and his cheek throbbed in pain, pulsing with his erratic heartbeat. A prickling on his neck like eyes hidden in the dark, watching.

A ghostly wind swept through the street, it’s whistle sounding more like a moan.

As the feeling of being watched increased, Harry spun around, a gasp slipping unbidden between his lips.

“A little late for a child to be out by himself,” A rich purring voice spoke from the shadows.

Harry was still shaking from fear and adrenaline and he found it difficult to keep his legs steady beneath him.

He’d been so  _stupid_ ,  why had he run?

Now he’d only wound up in more trouble than he’d started in: lost on a dark street with a stranger who hid in the shadows.

“What is your name?” The voice was softer now, stepping forwards so that his face was cast into the light of a street lamp.

It was a man, a fairly attractive man, with sharp features and calculating dark eyes. He reeked of danger.

Harry glanced sideways, trying to decide if he should make a run for it, before realizing that this man was most likely much faster than him.

“F-freak,” He finally answered. The mans neutral expression seemed to shift but only for a moment. Did he have something against the name? The Dursley’s had always spit it out, maybe it meant something else too.

“What a peculiar name,”

Harry scrunched up his nose in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

The man tilted his head, almost in amusement at this small boy who’d wandered into such a dangerous part of town.

“It means strange,” he trailed. “Out of the ordinary... odd,” Harry was squinting at him through the dark and a flash of understanding lighted behind his coke-bottle glasses.

“It’s fitting then,”

“How so?” Harry shifted. Was it ok to be talking to this man? He hadn’t tried anything so far.

He almost seemed kind, asking about Harry like this. Harry decided he would trust the man, despite the chills that broke across his skin when he met his gaze. 

“I’m strange too,” Harry paused but when the man didn’t answer he dared a glance up. His face was unreadable but those hard brown eyes were observing Harry carefully.

The intensity forced Harry to look away, shrugging to work out a tenseness in his body that he hadn’t noticed.

“Weird things happen when I’m around,” He admitted in shame, cheek throbbing as a reminder.

“I think you’ve been misinformed,” Harry scrunched up his nose at the complicated word but watched the man through his mussed hair that hung over his eyes.

“The things you can do are not strange, they are spectacular,” Harry figured that was a good thing and his chest warmed in an unfamiliar way, he offered the man a hesitant smile. No one had every told Harry he was anything other than a no-good freak, that he was  _ worth  _ something.

“What’s your name, sir?” The man smirked at his simple display of manners.

“Tom Riddle,”

He peered around for a moment as if looking for something before meeting little Harry’s eyes.

“I must admit, you’ve stumbled into a rather unsafe part of town. Your family is surely missing you,” Toms sharp gaze followed the way Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Erm... I live with my aunt and uncle. They won’t miss me,” Though they may miss his labor, he thought bitterly. Toms eyes narrowed, the boy’s situation seemed difficult. He did look rather small now that he noticed.

“Well, you certainly can’t stay here, and it’s a school night, you should be getting home.”

“I don’t go to school,” Tom reared back.

“Don’t go-“ He took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. How had he ended up here? Here, speaking with a child who had the most lovely eyes and the most ridiculous words.

“Do you know where you live? I’ll take you home,” Harry eyed Tom warily. The mans face seemed to be a mask of calm but his nostrils were flared slightly. Harry knew from watching Vernon that that was usually a sign someone was unhappy.

Harry didn’t want to return to his relatives but he knew that he couldn’t stay here forever either. The crisp night air was already nipping at his fingers and his bare feet were sore from the hard pavement.

“Alright,” Tom seemed like a fairly nice man but Harry was sure to keep his distance. After all he could change at any moment just like his aunt and uncle.

So they walked together to number 4 Privet Drive. They didn’t speak much but when they reached the perfectly kept lawn Tom spoke.

“If you find yourself in trouble again, look for me,”

Harry scrunched his brow, how would he find Tom in all of London? But when he turned to ask him Tom Riddle had disappeared as if by magic.

Harry shook his head and took a deep, steadying breath. As he turned back to the house he had to fight the urge to turn and flee again, shaking with every step towards the front door. The sitting room window was lit making Harry gulp.

There, standing at the front door, the sounds of the television were just audible and his hand trembled as he reached for the door knob.  _Don’t be scared_ ,  he told himself.

The door opened with a creak that made him cringe, rushing inside before he could run back to the street and follow after Tom. 

Harry practically sagged in relief when he caught sight of Vernon passed out on the sofa, mouth wide in a snore.

He must’ve fallen asleep waiting for Harry to come back. Harry didn’t have the energy to consider what his punishment would be, so he crawled into his familiar cramped cupboard and curled up on his cot. Harry lay there for a while trying to clear his head before the adrenaline finally wore off and he drifted to sleep, cheek aching horribly against his pillow.


	2. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry owes Tom

The slap Harry received the next morning didn’t come as a surprise but it hurt all the same, his chest aching more than his face at the acceptance that his uncle would truly raise a hand to him.

Sure he’d always yelled, always threatened to hurt him but he’d never actually done it. And now that he had, Harry felt that he was that much further away from having a family.

His uncles fury made little Harry quiver as he was shoved back into his cupboard only moments after being pulled from it.

“Want to run away you little freak? You’ll see how good you’ve had it till now,” Harry always hated being taken from his cupboard so quickly, it made his eyes burn as the lights in the house were so bright and it took him a minute to adjust to the darkness again as he curled into a ball on his small cot.

The smell of bleach and other cleaning products made his nose itch but he’d learned to ignore the stench, along with the spiders that he shared his cupboard with. If the light shined just right under the crack in the cupboard door the spider webs would shimmer like jewels, they helped Harry settle. He was careful not to disturb them.

Dudley’s footsteps thundered down the stairs above, monstrous for his young age. The dust made Harry cough and curl tighter around himself.

Aunt Petunia didn’t let him out of the cupboard that morning, nor the morning after. Or the morning after that. Not even a sliver of food was given to Harry while he sat in the dark with a ravenous stomach and only spiders for company. His throat was dry and he felt as if he would break out into a horrible coughing fit if he so much as yawned. Eventually the containment became too much, Harry was starving and he desperately had to use the bathroom.

“A-aunt Petunia?” His voice cracked from disuse and he choked on a deep breath before he tried again a bit louder. “Aunt Petunia?”

“Hush, boy!” Petunia sounded from a distance, tone dripping in annoyance. Harry shifted on his cot, holding between his legs in a desperate attempt to hold it in.

“Please, Auntie! I have to go to the bathroom!” Petunia didn’t respond, Harry wasn’t sure if she was even near by any more but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Harry told himself not to cry when he was in his cupboard, he knew it would only make things worse, but as he sat in soiled trousers in the dark with a dreadfully empty stomach, his emotions got the best of him.

That’s how Petunia found him the next morning, knees pulled to his chest, smelling of piss with dried tear tracks down his hallow cheeks.

“Disgusting freak! Clean this mess up right away!”

His Aunt had given him the end pieces of a bread loaf afterwards and Harry devoured them along with a glass of water. When he was given time to clean himself he guzzled down more water from the sink faucet until his stomach was full and his throat no longer felt uncomfortably dry.

It must’ve been another day or so, while he was curled in on himself again fighting his hunger when he heard a knock on the front door.

Harry strained his ears, face pressed against the door of his cupboard to listen as his uncles thunderous footsteps stopped and an unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Good evening, I’m here to speak with a Mr. Dursley,”

“And who am I speaking to?” The man at the door must’ve been nicely dressed, Vernon had adorned his friendly, people pleasing voice.

“I’m Perry Denison with Social Services. We’ve received a report that there is a child living here that is not enrolled in school,”

Harry’s breath caught in his chest. Did they mean him? Had they found out that Harry wasn’t going to school like Dudley was? Harry hadn’t realized that was a bad thing but maybe that explained Toms reaction. Was Tom behind this?

Harry could just make out Vernon sputtering excuses when the man at the door cut him off,

“You have a week to enroll the child in school or you will be facing charges. Have a good day Mr. Dursley you’ll be seeing me again,” The door closed with a resounding thud.

Was Harry going to school? It hurt his heart to hope this much and his wide grin made his cheeks ache but he couldn’t help it.

He could make friends and learn how to read and he wouldn’t have to stay in his cupboard all day!

Harry was certain that this was Toms doing and he’d never felt more grateful. He’d find a way to make it up to the man somehow.

During the following days things returned to normal, though Harry couldn’t help but notice that he was getting more food than usual. Did that have something to do with school too?

He also noticed that Vernons temper was much shorter. Harry rushed through his chores during the day to finish them before Vernon got home because other wise his uncle could always find something to yell about. 

Dudley had taken to following his dads example, torturing Harry any chance he got. He was only six so his hits barely hurt but when he could land a kick while Harry was working they would leave big black bruises.

Harry wanted desperately to make it stop, to find some way to make them leave him alone. The words,  _ look for me _ , playing on repeat in his head.

Harry kept himself on his his feet with the thought that he was going to school soon, surely things would change for the better.

Despite what he’d hoped, school didn’t change many things for Harry. He wasn’t used to so many people and making friends was hard, especially with Dudley scaring people away with rumors about Harry’s freakishness.

Harry’s favorite part of school was his teacher.

“Hello, Harry! My name is Mrs. Julie, I’ll be your teacher,” 

Harry had scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion.

“My name isn’t Harry,”

“Why of course it is. Harry James Potter,” Mrs. Julie had frowned at Harry’s state of confusion. “Is there something else you’d rather I call you?”

Harry shook his head, “Harry is good,”

Mrs. Julie had shown him story books too. He didn’t know how to read yet but Mrs. Julie said that he was learning very fast for his age.

An unfortunate product of school was a game that Dudley liked to call Harry Hunting.

Most of the time it started right when Harry stepped off the bus onto Privet Drive but sometimes Dudley and his friends liked to play at recess too.

It was one of these such times that Harry found himself stepping off of the bus where Dudley and his friends waited, heart beginning to beat faster in his chest.

His ankle still throbbed from where it’d been stepped on during the last game and Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to outrun them today.

Still, Harry took off running as fast as he could, legs still sore and complaining as he could hear the bigger boys laughing and jeering behind him.

“C’mon freak! Surely you can do better than that!” The voice was right at his back and Harry tried to speed up but his ankle gave a cry of protest before he was snatched back by his shirt collar.

It was only for a split second, Harry squeezed his eyes shut in fear, wishing he was somewhere else.

The laughing stopped. There was no grip on his shirt but Harry didn’t dare open his eyes. Were they tricking him?

“Hello again,” Harry’s skin prickled with goosebumps and he opened his eyes to meet chocolate brown.

“I know that I told you to find me but I didn’t realize you would be so efficient,”

Harry glanced around, he was back on the familiar street where he’d met Tom all those weeks ago.

“I don’t know how- I didn’t-“ Tom chuckled and Harry stopped stuttering.

“Yes, I imagine this was the work of accidental magic. Quiet a handy thing sometimes,” Tom scrutinized him, taking in the oversized clothes and the bruise on his arm.

“What’s this from?” He lifted a hand but he didn’t touch and Harry was grateful, the mark was still tender.

Harry opened his mouth to reply before closing it again. He couldn’t tell the truth, uncle Vernon would be furious, but he didn’t want to lie to Tom. Tom seemed to understand Harry’s silence, nodding his head and moving his hands behind his back.

“And school?” Harry’s eyes widened as he remembered.

“School is brilliant! I just learned that word, my teacher is very nice, I’m getting very good at reading too,” Harry flushed at Toms amused smirk.

“And thank you, I owe you,” Tom was undeniably pleased by this comment.

“All in due time, little one,” His eyes wandered back to Harry’s bruised wrist. Truthfully, it was from being yanked out of his cupboard by Uncle Vernon, if you looked close enough you could make out the lines of where his meaty fingers had dug into Harry’s skin.  
“Would you like me to do something about the ones who caused that?”

Harry scrunched up his brow as he does.

“What could you do?”

Tom watched Harry carefully, a measuring glint in his eyes.

“Well, I got you into school, did I not?” Harry nodded. Tom was right he had done the impossible once, he could do it again. But a part of Harry fought against the thought of Tom dealing with all of Harry’s problems. Harry wanted to do something for himself, he couldn’t depend on Tom for everything, he’d already done more than enough.

“That’s okay. Thank you but I can handle it,” Tom frowned but seemed to expect his answer. “How did you do it, Tom? get me into school I mean? Was it magic?” Tom was quite tall, he towered over young Harry, though most people did, even children his own age.

“Not entirely. Magic is your greatest resource but a few well placed words can get you a great distance,” Harry nodded, soaking in the words. They sounded important and he told himself to remember them, repeating the phrase in his head.

Tom seemed to enjoy sharing his knowledge and Harry was eager to learn as much as he could so he stayed for as long as Tom would allow, asking questions memorizing the answers.

“As much as I delight in our talks, Harry,” Harry had told Tom about his real name, Tom hadn’t seemed surprised(never really seemed surprised) though maybe a little angry as he’d heard Harry’s story about school. Harry doesn’t think Tom is mad at him. “I have plans this afternoon and you should be getting home,”

Harry’s mood soured at the thought, a smile that he hadn’t realized he’d had falling away.

“Will you be here if I come back?” Tom smiles, and his smiles are always beautiful even when they’re small and close lipped as this one.

“Of course, Harry,”

When Harry gets back to Privet Drive Dudley is nowhere to be seen and he can hear Aunt Petunia upstairs on the phone. He had just enough time to finish with his daily chores before Uncle Vernon gets home.

Vernons anger is audible in his heavy footsteps and his slamming of the front door. Harry flinches, wishing he’d gotten into his cupboard already but knowing it’s too late now, Vernon would see him if he tried.

Harry doesn’t move from in front of the kitchen sink until he hears his Uncle collapse in the sitting room and the TV switch on. His first step towards safety is interrupted.

“ _BOY_!” Harry startles, slamming a knee into a kitchen cabinet so that it makes a loud bang. He holds his breathe.

“ _Bring me a beer!_ ”

Harry scrambles into action, tugging a cold bottle from the fridge and hurrying into the living room even as his heart thumps hard in his ribcage, warning him away.

Vernon doesn’t spare him a glance, snatching the bottle from his hands the moment he’s close enough. Harry takes his chance and scurries into his cupboard, breathing hard.

“ _Would you like me to do something?_ ”

Harry shakes his head and steels himself. He can do this. He’s made it this far what’s a little further?

The telly was distorted, muffled voices barely reaching Harry’s ears. It’s glow was bright, the only light in the cupboard, creeping under the door crack in just the right way to illuminate a spider hard at work. The movements were hypnotic and familiar as Harry allowed himself to close his eyes in slumber.


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where poor Harry can’t catch a break.

Harry remembers being woken up in the night by shouting. It’s his Aunt and Uncle, they’re arguing but Harry can’t make out the words.

Aunt Petunia raised her voice, “We’ll wake Dudley. We can continue this later,” and Harry had listened to her footsteps ascend the stairs.

Uncle Vernon had stood still for a moment longer, Harry had never realized how loud his uncle breathed until that moment, and then his footsteps followed his wife’s.

The next morning Harry was exhausted, he’d had a hard time getting to sleep again the previous night and he could see the bags under his eyes in the mirror when he brushed his teeth.

Harry still made breakfast just as he’d always done, though now he got some of it too(do the scraps count?) before he left for school.

Mrs. Julie watches him oddly through class and when she asks him a question he stumbles over his answer, mind half asleep. She asks him to stay in class during recess. Harry nods flushing at the snickering of his classmates and sinking down in his seat.

“Hello, Harry, how are you today?” Mrs. Julie has light red hair that’s almost pink and brown eyes that always seem so kind. Harry avoids those eyes as she crosses one leg over the other and laces her fingers together over a knee.

“I’m fine,” Mrs. Julie is smiling but she doesn’t seem happy, she has a little crease between her eyebrows and Harry chooses to look at that instead of her eyes.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Harry? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Harry nods because he doesn’t want to tell this kind woman no.

“Did you sleep ok last night?” Harry shifts from one foot to the other and nods again. Mrs. Julie’s smile lowers just a little.

“I want you to be completely honest with me ok, Harry? You can trust me. Are your Aunt and Uncle nice to you?” He tensed.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He knew they weren’t  _nice_.  Tom was nice, Mrs. Julie was nice, the Dursley’s were not the same.

_ We feed you!  _

Aunt Petunias voice rang in his head. They fed him, they clothed him, they gave him a roof to sleep under. They may not have been  nice  but he needed them. What would Mrs. Julie do if Harry said that they weren’t nice?

_ Well placed words can get you a great distance . _

Harry had never had to place his words before.

“No ones nice all the time,” is what he finally settled on and he knew he’d placed the words all wrong when Mrs. Julies eyes seemed to glisten.

“Can you tell me how you got this bruise here, Harry?” Harry tugged at his shirt. He couldn’t do this, he didn’t know what to do, he was going to get into such trouble. Why couldn’t he use his magic? Or use magic words like Tom?

“It was an accident,” Harry muttered and Mrs. Julies smile was so much sadder than a smile should be.

“Ok, Harry. Thank you, you can go to recess now,” Harry didn’t want to leave her with this knowledge that she’d stolen from his answers. He wanted to know what she was going to do with it. He wanted to ask her to not do anything, to leave it alone, but when he opened his mouth his throat closed, working against him. And so he turned, like a coward (that was a new word too, he felt it suited him) and went to recess.

The next few days were achingly quiet. Harry felt there was an explosion waiting to occur, the fuse slowly burning shorter and shorter as the minutes ticked past. It made him jittery and anxious and he was scolded more often for his shaky chore work. One afternoon when he got off of the bus he turned away from Privet Drive and made the trip to the familiar alley.

Sure enough a moment later, Tom appeared, just as he’d said he would.

“Back so soon, Harry?”

Harry fit the visits in as part of his new routine. Every couple of days he’d step off the bus and meet Tom in the alley and Harry would absorb Toms words for hours until he had to hurry back to Privet Drive to finish his chores.

Tom always appeared a few moments after Harry arrived without fail.

“It’s magic,” Tom admits after Harry asked during one of their meetings. “I’ve set up wards here so that when wizards enter this alley I’m alerted,” Tom had delved deeply into wards after that and Harry had only understood half of it but he remembered it all.

“Would you like me to take care of them?” Had become a common question. Harry would show up with a split lip, a bruised wrist, a limp and Tom would grow cold and he’d ask Harry that question. Harry answered the same every time, “No thank you, I’ve got it, Tom,”

Harry was afraid of what would happen if the Dursley’s were ‘taken care of’. Though he doesn’t know entirely what that entails he imagines if they were taken away or punished in some way it would only make things harder for Harry. The way his Aunt and Uncle speak of orphanages and child services makes him shiver and feel just a little more grateful for his cupboard.

Things were relatively calm for a few weeks, Harry turns seven without incident and he was proud of himself for making it another year. His Aunt gave him a paper clip after breakfast and Harry thanked her, adding it to his cupboard.

And then things went wrong.

Harry got off of the bus just in time to watch a police car pull away from number 4, Privet Drive. An uneasy feeling settled in Harry’s gut but he pushed it aside as he opened the front door.

The house was silent which unsettled Harry even more. He desired nothing more than to crawl into his cupboard but his chores needed to be done so he headed to the kitchen to start dinner. The uneasiness only grew so he tried to work faster, filling a pot with water and setting it on the stove to boil, washing dishes, cleaning the counters-

“ _Freak_ , ” The word is spit with such cold unbridled rage that Harry flinches away from it.

Aunt Petunia was standing in the kitchen door way and her eyes were burning with pure fury. Harry couldn’t feel himself begin to shake and he gripped his rag tight between his hands, pressing his back to the counter.

“Who have you been running your mouth off to hm? Spouting nonsense that gets police men knocking at my door!”

She stomped forwards and Harry tried to step away only shuffling further down the counter, towards the stove.

“Who do you think you are! After everything we’ve done for you! We should’ve let you rot in an orphanage!” Her spittle landed on his face as she lifted a bony hand. Harry closed his eyes and the hit landed hard on his cheek making him flinch back into the stove and spill the pot of boiling water.

He cried out in pain as the water splashed, coating his left hand in liquid fire. He was caught between wanting to hold the limb close to protect it and not wanting to cause any more blinding pain so he held it by the elbow, tears sliding down his cheeks as he whimpered.

Petunia stood unblinking for a moment before she steeled herself and spit once more, “You brought this on yourself, you freak. This is all your fault,” before she whirled around and fled from the kitchen.

Harry lay down on the floor, sobs shaking his chest as his hand burned something horrible. He felt that his entire body had been set ablaze and he’d been left immobile.

When a few minutes had passed he forced himself to stand, legs shaking, threading to drop him. He rinsed his hand under the sink faucet for a moment but the pain was simply unbearable. Harry couldn’t make himself touch it, could barely look at the angry red skin without feeling sick so he simply laid a towel rag over it and tried to keep it still. He didn’t dare try to move his fingers, each and every twitch sending a shock of agony up his arm. 

He turned to return to his cupboard when the pot and overturned water caught his eye. Fresh tears rose and threatened to spill over at the thought that he’d have to clean it up before he could lie down.

It was painful and Harry’s tears mixed with the the puddle as he’d cleaned it but eventually he’d made it to his cupboard and lay with his back to the door. He knew he’d probably get in trouble for not cooking dinner but there was no way he’d be able to in this state.

Harry used a bottle of cleaner to elevate his hand, setting it under his arm when he lay down so that his hand didn’t touch anything. Every few seconds his fingers would twitch and his hand would throb like a heart and it made Harry’s tears flow just a little faster. He’d learned to cry silently at an early age.

When Harry woke up the next day it was with a pounding headache and a horribly burning hand. It almost felt like he’d burnt it all over again. There was just enough light in the cupboard to make out raised bumps scattered across the angry skin, Harry didn’t try to touch them, they seemed to ooze. He tried not to pay his hand much attention.

Life went on outside the cupboard, Aunt Petunia tossed him a few bread crusts and let him out to use the bathroom once a day.Harry was scared that he wouldn’t be allowed to go back to school, that he wouldn’t be allowed to see Tom again.

Would Mrs. Julie notice he was gone? Surely Tom would. But what could they do? Why would they do anything in the first place?

Harry told himself not to cry. Crying is for babies and Harry was not a crybaby no matter what anyone told him.

Eventually the blisters on his hand lowered and it seemed that the burn was healing. Harry wasn’t sure if it was normal for burns to heal this quickly but he was grateful for it. It was no longer as painful as before, though it hurt to move his hand more than necessary and there was an odd tightness to the skin.

Harry had no way to keep time but he figured it must of been about a week.  They can’t keep me in here forever.  He wasn’t sure if he would’ve rather not gone to school at all if he wasn’t going to be allowed anymore. At least before he didn’t know what he was missing out on.

“Please, Aunt Petunia,” The silence eventually got to him. “I won’t talk to anyone anymore I swear it. No more trouble,” His Aunt hadn’t answered but the next morning his cupboard was unlocked in time for him to start breakfast.

Before he left for school he took bandages from the bathroom cupboard and clumsily wrapped his hand. It was mostly healed now, skin rippled and colored in an unsettling way. Harry had never had to use many bandages, when he had a bad cut he usually tried to stack band-aids (he’d never been taught how to tie). The burn was too large for a few band-aids so he did his best to wrap around every finger so that he could still use his hand before tucking the extra bandage through a loop.

He was excited to go back to school. Mrs. Julie must be wondering where he’s been, of course he can’t tell her but he’ll be happy to see her again.

But when Harry got to class he was met with an unfamiliar face.

“You must be Harry Potter,” She was an older woman, grey hair cut short with pointed glasses and down turned lips that made her seem permanently displeased. “I’ve heard plenty of you. A trouble maker they say. Well I’ll be having none of that. You may call me ma’am or Mrs. Faubus. Nothing else. Am I clear?” Harry nodded, wondering desperately where Mrs. Julie was. “Good. Find your seat,”

Why couldn’t Harry have one good thing?


	4. Tragedy cares not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse before it can get better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets darker still in this chapter. This is the darkest of the dark and it’s only uphill from here.
> 
> Warning of Rape/Non-con also slight homophobia

Harry pushed through the day thinking of his visit with Tom that afternoon.

Mrs.Faubus carried a ruler with her and if she found that your work wasn’t satisfactory or that you weren’t focusing hard enough you’d be slapped on the back of the knuckles with it. She didn’t care that Harry’s hand was wrapped in gauze so he tried to keep his left one under his desk as often as possible.

The only joy that this new teacher brought was that Dudley often got in trouble too, for talking with his friends or messing around.

Overall, by the end of the day Harry was exhausted and ready to see his only friend. Tom never made him feel stupid despite knowing so much more. Harry hoped Tom would be happy to see him again.

  
Tom appeared quicker than usual when Harry arrived in their alley.

“Hello, Tom! I’ve missed you very much, I hope you aren’t too mad with me, I got here as fast as I could,” Harry grinned, exhaustion forgotten. But Tom didn’t respond. His face was cold and expressionless, eyes frigid and cutting as a razor blade.

“Tom?” Harry tried, smile falling.

“What happened to your hand, Harry,” Harry startled at the tone, hard and unforgiving.

“E-erm... it was an accident, some water spilt and-“ Harry gasped and stumbled back when Tom was suddenly right in front of him.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry. This has gone on long enough, no more games,” Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the prickling behind his eyes.

Tom wasn’t supposed to be like this, he was supposed to  _understand_ ,  to  _ leave it alone . _

“Let me help you, Harry. You’re too special for this kind of treatment. You don’t deserve this. Those filthy muggles will never lay a hand on you again, just say the word,” His voice was gentler now and Harry took a deep breath that stuttered for a moment. Toms fingers reached forwards and Harry flinched back but they carded through his hair gently, scraping against his scalp.

“I-i can’t. I can’t Tom I _can’t_. I need them. please,” Harry could feel his breath coming shorter as he panicked. Tom pulled him closer, flush against his chest and Harry had never felt such warmth before. It seeped into his very being and warmed a coldness deep inside of him that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“You can, Harry. You don’t need them. I’ll take care of you,” Those fingers were carding through his hair still and they caused goosebumps to raise over his skin as he shook.

“They’re my family,” Harry whispered, a last desperate attempt.

“Family means nothing,” Harry could feel the tears wet on his cheeks.

“Then what do I have?”

“You have me. It’s the family you choose that is important, not the family you’re forced upon,” Harry could feel himself giving in. What would Tom do to them?

Harry pulled back.

“I can do it, Tom. I’ll take care of them,” Tom searched Harry’s face, scrutinizing him. “I swear it,” Tom sighed.

“One chance, Harry. One more. If you don’t do something before the next time I see you it’s my turn,” Harry tried not to focus on the dark promise in those words.

“Thank you, I’ll be back soon, you’ll see,” Harry couldn’t resist curling into that warmth once more, squeezing his arms tight around Toms waist before pulling away.

“I’ll walk you back,” Tom decides. Maybe it’s because he’s not quite ready to let his little Harry return to that house again, he can’t be sure. He does know that he’ll have to take care of the filthy muggles himself, Harry doesn’t have it in him, but he’ll give the boy a day or so like he’d said. Give him time to come to terms.

“Remember, Harry, one chance,” Tom warns once more, just to see if maybe Harry would try. Maybe the boy would surprise him. Harry nods in shaky determination, taking the pathway up to number four.

His shut the door behind him, startling when Dudley peered out from the sitting room, a wide grin on his face.

“Wow, Potter, I didn’t know you were a _poof_ ,” the words send Harry’s blood running cold.

When Harry finishes his chores he takes the house phone and sits on the living room sofa, staring at the number pad. He was home alone, Petunia and Dudley had left just earlier to visit a relative and Vernon didn’t get off work for another hour.

_999, 999, 999_

  
Harry thought over and over again in his head. Just a few clicks and everything could be ok but his fingers shook and his palms sweat. Harry felt as if his throat were constricting and he craved Toms comforting warmth.

_999_ , Tom said he’ll take care of you.

The front door slammed open and the phone slipped from Harry’s slick fingers, landing on the carpet with a thump.

“And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, freak?” Vernon was home early and Harry felt himself begin to shake all over at being caught.

Vernon stomped over, dropping his work bag before catching sight of the phone on the floor.

“And what’s this?” Harry wanted to snatch it away, to hide it under the couch cushions or the coffee table but it’d already been seen so he clenched his hands.

Vernon lifted the phone to his face, a scary grin taking over when he saw what was typed there.

_ 9 _

He’d only typed one bloody number.

“Were you trying to call the police you ungrateful freak?” Vernon spit and his face was turning a terrifying shade of red.

“N-no, I swear I was just-“ Vernon lifted a hand and Harry shut his mouth cowering backwards on the sofa.

“As if the police would even believe a  _poof_ ,”  Vernon hissed and Harry flinched eyes growing wide. “That’s right. You thought I wouldn’t find out? That you’d been sneaking off like a slag to meet some man? And to bring him here, to my house,” Harry remember back to when he’d gotten to number four that day. Dudley must’ve seen Tom walk him back.

Vernon laughed as the color drained from Harry’s face.

“You must be a good shag then, huh? I heard the man looked like money. What, were you doing it for the cash?” Harry wished he could disappear, tried and hoped and wished just like he’d done during Harry hunting but nothing happened.

“You’d have to be better than Petunia. Old bitch won’t even put out anymore,” Harry flinched at the vulgarity, wanting to plug his ears but not wanting to draw his uncles ire.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Vernon roared, yanking Harry’s head up by his hair. Vernon considered him for a second, pulling Harry’s glasses off with two fat fingers and Harry could feel himself begin to panic. 

“You could pass for a girl. You’re small enough,”

Harry reached up and clawed at the hand holding his hair and Vernon let go with a hiss. Everything was blurry without his glasses but Harry leapt off of the sofa and took off towards the back door.

“You good for nothing freak! Get back here!” Vernon roared and Harry’s blood pumped faster as Harry reached the back door and tugged on the knob. It was locked. Struggling not to hyper ventilate he reached for the locks, fumbling with shaky fingers and poor eye sight. He’s just flipped the top switch when he was jerked back by his neck.

Thick hands encircled his throat and forced him into a wall, cutting off his air supply.

“Nice try, bloody slag. Now you’ll get what you deserve,” A thick hand around his throat constricted and Harry choked, scrabbling desperately at the hand, spots appearing in his vision. Another hand yanked on his pants and Harry kicked and struggled as much as he could, landing a sharp kick to Vernons thigh that made him growl. The button on his pants broke and they were yanked to his ankles. There was no more air left and Harry felt his fight fading as his lungs burned in agony.

The hand lifted and Harry gasped, sucking in gulps of oxygen, coughing and hacking on the air as he was tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Dark spots were still dancing in his vision when he felt a cool breeze down below and he started fighting anew.

“Stop struggling you little shit!” Vernons spittle splashed on Harry’s face as he used his nails to claw anything he could reach and his legs to kick.

His efforts were thwarted when Vernon sat himself on Harry’s legs and Harry was certain that the limbs would break under his uncles weight. A single large hand caught both of Harry’s fighting arms and pinned it in an uncomfortable position over his head.

Harry panted, thrashing with all he had until a strong fist landed squarely on his cheek. He was dazed and weak as he felt his legs being parted and his hole being touched.

“W-wait,” Harry croaked, voice straining from being choked. “Uncle Vernon please wait, stop, please,” He could feel the hopelessness rising like a wave ready to take him out. He couldn’t get away. Tears welled in his eyes at the realization. “Please,”

The man was only a blurry shape above him as a horrible pain suddenly forced itself into his entrance. Harry cried out in anguish, thrashing, but Vernons grip held tight as thick fingers forced Harry’s small hole open.

“Bloody hell, tighter than I thought you’d be. No wonder the bugger kept coming back,” Harry shook with sobs, tears pouring from his eyes and snot building in his nose.

“ _ Stop!  _ Please! Stop stop stop- don’t-“

Vernon ignored the cries as he unbuckled his pants, struggling with one hand before lining himself up.

Harry had never felt something as excruciatingly painful. He felt as if he was being ripped in two from the inside out. Never had he felt so powerless, so used.

The torment seemed to last for hours, Vernon panting above him as he cried and begged. Pleading for his uncle to  _ stop  _ but it was as if Vernon couldn’t even hear him, lost in his own pleasure as Harry was torn apart.

Vernon let out a long groan and Harry could feel something warm filling him and it made him sick. Vernon pulled away and Harry’s breath hitched, the burning sensation open to the air now. His uncle stood slowly, buckled his pants and looked down at Harry who still lay on the kitchen floor. He didn’t say anything as he turned away and Harry couldn’t make out his expression with his blurry vision.

Harry curled himself into a small ball, whimpering when the action caused a painful tugging in his bum.

He lay there for a while, tears drying on his cheeks before he heard the stairs creak to signal his uncle ascending them.

There was a scary numbness threatening to overtake him as he pulled his trousers back up and forced his legs under him.

His knees buckled and he landed on the tile with a hard bang but the pain didn’t register and he pushed himself back up again until he was standing straight.

Harry first went to the sitting room, finding the blurry shape of his glasses on the floor and sliding them back onto his nose.

Then he left through the front door and walked down the London streets towards the only person he felt he could trust.

When Tom received the alert that Harry had arrived in their alley he met it with confusion. Had Harry changed his mind? It’d only been hours since they’d last spoken.

But when he apparated and saw the state his boy was in he felt a spark of panic. He hadn’t felt such a feeling in so long he’d almost forgotten what it was.

Harry’s eyes were red and swollen, his neck had bruises forming in the shape of fingers and his clothes were in total disarray. He hadn’t even worn shoes. The most concerning factor was Harry’s eyes. They had always shone a vibrant, daring green but now they seemed dull as if someone had blown out the light.

“Harry, what happened?” Tom started in a soft voice and Harry’s eyes barely seemed focused at all.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered and Tom could hear the croak in his voice. Striding forwards Tom placed his hands on Harry’s cheeks but the boy barely seemed to acknowledge them.

“Harry, darling,” Tom spoke quicker now. “You have to talk to me, what’s wrong? What is it?” Harry’s eyes finally met his and they sparked with recognition before welling with tears.

“I should have stayed, I’m sorry, Tom I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left I’m s-“

Tom pulled the boy into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around him, sobbing so hard his whole body shook with the effort. 

“Hush, Harry. You’re alright now,” Tom wanted to shake him for answers to demand the name of who’d caused this pain but he knew it’d get him no where.

“I’m going to take you home, alright?” Tom asked gently leaning back and Harry jerked, panic filling his eyes.

“No, wait! Don’t take me back! Please, Tom,” Tom could feel cold fury freezing in his veins and had to restrain himself from leaving Harry to slaughter the Dursley’s.

“No, my love, not there. My home, you will stay with me,” Harry seemed to relax slightly before his legs gave out from under him. Tom pulled him closer to keep him upright before finally lifting him into his arms.

Harry was unhealthily light in Toms hold, an arm under his legs and one under his back to hold him safely against Toms chest.

A wetness on his arm startled him that seemed to be coming from beneath Harry. Tom paused in confusion before he stilled with dawning realization. Harry was too young, was Toms first thought, but of course tragedy cared not for age.

“Tom?” Harry’s voice was hoarse and Tom had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to quell his rage before opening them again.

“Don’t worry, Harry, everything is going to be alright,” As soon as the Dursley’s got what they deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things can only get better


End file.
